a knew
that lack of space forbade indulgence in such minor details of history
on the part of the book's compiler.

Another little incident heated Mrs. Devar to boiling-point. Cynthia
more than once hinted that, if tired, she might wait for them in the
lowermost court, where a fine tree spread its shade over some benches,
but the older woman persisted in visiting every dungeon and scrambling
up every broken stair. The girl took several photographs, and had
reached the last film in a roll, when the whim seized her to pose
Medenham in front of a Norman arch.

"You look rather like a baron," she said gleefully. "I wish I could
borrow some armor and take you in character as the gentleman who built
this castle. By the way, his name was Fitz-something-or-other. Was he
a relation?"

"Fitz Osborne," said Medenham.

"Ah, yes. Fitzroy means King's son, doesn't it?"

"I--er--believe so."

"Well, I can imagine you scowling out of a vizor. It would suit you
admirably."

"But I might not scowl."

"Oh, yes, you would. Remember this morning. Just force yourself to
think for a moment that I am Monsieur----"

She stopped abruptly.

"A little more to the left, please--and turn your face to the sun.
There, that is capital."

"Why should Fitzroy scowl at the recollection of Count Edouard?"
demanded Mrs. Devar, her eyes devouring the telltale blush that
suffused the girl's face and neck.

"Only because the Count wished to supplant him as our chauffeur," came
the ready answer.

"I thought Monsieur Marigny's offer a very courteous one."

"Undoubtedly. But as I had to decide the matter I preferred to travel
in a car that was at my own disposal."

Mrs. Devar dared not go farther. She relapsed into a sulky silence.
She said not a word when Cynthia occupied the front seat for the climb
through Chepstow's High Street, and when the girl turned to call her
attention to the view from the crest of the famous Wyndcliff she was
nodding asleep!

Cynthia told Medenham, and there was a touch of regret in her voice.

"Poor dear," she said in an undertone, "the Castle was too much for
her, and the fresh air has made her drowsy."

He glanced quickly over his shoulder, and instantly made up his mind
to broach a project that he had thought out carefully since his
quarrel with the Frenchman.

"You mean to stay in Hereford during the whole of to-morrow, Miss
Vanrenen?" he asked.

"Yes. Somehow, I don't see myself scampering across the m